


The Cursed Soldiers

by NezumiPi



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Brainwashing, Gen, Recruitment, the Treehouse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 06:18:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3279896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NezumiPi/pseuds/NezumiPi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson learns new information about Ward's recruitment. Meanwhile, assets calling themselves the Cursed Soldiers take a base from Hydra and offer it to SHIELD.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Thirty minutes in a room with Raina was enough to leave Coulson feeling exhausted. He hadn't gotten any actionable intelligence, just a lot of uncomfortable commentary that left him with the distinct impression that she – not he – was in control of the conversation.

" _I don't think you can pretend to have moral qualms all of a sudden, Raina. How old was that kid you set on us in Manila? Fourteen? Fifteen?"_

" _I hear SHIELD takes them young, too, Director Coulson."_

_Coulson kept his face studiously blank. Applicants generally had to be eighteen before they would even be eligible for the Academy and the vast majority were a few years older than that – a recruitment policy that matched the US military. Yes, there were very rare cases, in SciTech only, of profoundly gifted minors accepted before the age of majority, but they were kept out of the field until adulthood. (Actually, they were usually kept out of the field indefinitely – lab monkeys, engineers, and theoreticians.)_

" _Your own seditious ex-Agent Ward was recruited as a teenager. He said the Clairvoyant," she put a hand over her mouth to cover the error, "I mean, ex-Agent Garrett lifted him up from hell."_

_The references to ex-agents were Raina's way of twisting the knife, mocking Coulson for having traitors right under his nose. It didn't help that she brought them up with a shy, flirty smile._

" _You're changing the subject," said Coulson. "I want to know how you've been contacting the Doctor."_

Raina was, at least, cooperating with their requests for biosamples. Simmons had assured him that having two cases instead of one would speed her analysis of alien biochemistry. He knew it was her intention to throw him off-balance with all sorts of little digs. She'd brought up his missing memories and implied he might have more that he didn't know about. And her talk about Ward was clearly designed to make him paranoid that spies might remain in SHIELD. At least she had the decency to leave Triplett's death out of it.

He poured out two ibuprofen and swallowed them dry.

* * *

There was a quarter-cup of coffee in the pot, clearly left there by someone who didn't want to make some more. Coulson's first guess as to the culprit was Hunter. Or, more charitably, Fitz, who might have shirked coffee-making duties due to his hand tremor. Coulson weighed the relative merits of reviewing the security footage and making a general announcement at the next meeting. Coffee was serious business.

May leaned into the break room. "There's an incoming transmission from the Treehouse."

"Hydra holds the Treehouse."

"Which is why I came to get you."

He jogged back to his office. This wasn't quite an emergency, but it certainly merited his attention.

May tapped at the computer's input. "It's audio-only," she said, and the message began to play. It was a fully synthesized voice, a cheap one, probably gotten from some free website.

" _The Treehouse has been liberated,"_ it said. _"We are not your friends. We are not your allies. But neither are we your enemies. We will return to you what is yours. We hold nothing. We are the Cursed Soldiers."_

"And then it repeats," said May. "I've sent it down to Fitz and Skye for secondary analysis."

"It's a little dramatic," said Coulson. "Cursed Soldiers. Sounds like something from a video game."

May looked skeptical. "Who do we know whose given us 'gifts' before and has a…complicated relationship with both SHIELD and Hydra?"

"You think it's him?"

"I think it's more than possible."

"I shudder to think why he's speaking in the plural," said Coulson. Was Ward building an army? "Can we trace it?"

"All we're getting is that it was sent from the Treehouse. I can ask Skye to-"

"Take Mockingbird and investigate. If the Treehouse has been liberated from Hydra, we should secure it – gather any useful information, technology, supplies. I'll do the math and see if we have the staff to hold it, or if we should raze it."

"This could be a trap," said May. "Whoever these 'Cursed Soldiers' are, they're upfront about the fact that they don't plan to play nice with SHIELD."

"That's why I'm not sending Skye. _If_ it's a trap and _if_ it was set by Ward, there's no reason to give him what he wants." Coulson paused. "You could take Simmons, leave her in the plane until you'd secured the ground. She could identify useful laboratory materials."

"If it's secured, there's no reason we can't make two trips. Let Morse and I run the first op."

"All right," said Coulson. He could feel a pleasant buzzing in the back of his head, the excitement of rebuilding what Hydra had demolished. "Let's take back the Treehouse."

* * *

An aerial view didn't tell them much, only that the outer power lines had been cut and the generator had been demolished. The buildings themselves were apparently still standing, and certainly looked to be structurally sound. Although the outpost was called 'the Treehouse', the main building was set into the ground, just like any other edifice. The name came from the trees planted densely around and on top of the building to provide camouflage.

The air conditioning unit had obviously been tampered with. Mockingbird picked up one of the heavy canisters attached to it via jerry-rigged hoses. "Isoflurane," she announced. "It's a sedative, dose-dependent. Won't knock everyone out, but it would have reduced their numbers."

They rounded the front of the building, back-to-back. May briefly wished Skye had been allowed to come. It would have been good for her to see the benefits of two people working in synchrony, by the book. But no, if this was Ward, it could very well be a trap, and there was no reason to play right into his hands.

The entranceway was blown open, clearly some kind of improvised explosive, judging from the nails and screws embedded jaggedly in the walls. There were three bodies, obviously Hydra grunts, neatly laid out near the western corridor. May knelt down next to the bodies. One was shot in the neck, one had a broken spine, and one appeared to have died from blood loss. They were fully dressed in tactical gear and still had their guns, though the ammunition had been removed.

Mockingbird looked down at the bodies. "You think this was your traitor?"

"I don't know yet."

They started down the eastern corridor, following the old rule 'When in doubt, go right.' There was no natural light and no electricity, so they were forced to work slowly, scanning each room with flashlights. There was a room full of hard-copy records, two labs, a kitchen, and a gym. They found two more bodies, both victims of gunshot wounds.

"This isn't enough," whispered Bobbi. "A facility this size and we've only found five dead?"

"They did gas the place."

"That's temporary sedation. They would have woken up by now."

It didn't really change their plans, but it did remind them to be careful. They passed the gym and made their way to the south atrium and storage space. There was an enormous Hydra symbol on the wall, desecrated with gunshots and some kind of blunt force instrument, possibly a hammer.

"That's what's been bugging me!" said Mockingbird, in surprised tone that managed to remain hushed. "Where are the Hydra symbols? They put it on all sorts of things. We've only seen a few. There should be-"

"Here," said May, opening a door off to the left. "They're right here."

Bobbi looked inside. It was a closet with thick concrete walls. The door was reinforced steel. She wondered what it had been used for before the Uprising. It was clear what the Cursed Soldiers had used it for: the space had burnt hot, but a few tattered Hydra symbols were still visible amongst the melted plastic and brittle paper.

"They wanted these things gone," said Bobbi. "But they did it in a way that preserved the building."

They moved on, heading up the west corridor. There was a com center. Here, there had clearly been close-quarters combat. There were busted computers scattered across the floor and blood smeared over desks. There was a chunk of bleach-blond hair stuck on the corner of a desk.

May examined the debris. "Hydra was trying to get a message out. They obviously didn't succeed."

Across the room, there was a car battery rigged up to the transmitter that had sent out the repeating message to Coulson.

Mockingbird looked at the hard-copy schematics, posted on the wall. "There's a helipad outside, about 300 meters off," she said. "Should we…?"

May nodded. They would come back to this place, pick through it carefully. This was just a first pass, to see what these so-called Cursed Soldiers had done. They obviously hated Hydra, but this wasn't a massacre. In all honesty, May wasn't sure SHIELD had the manpower to actually hold this base, but just knowing Hydra _didn't_ have it, that was a win, not to mention all the intelligence they would gain.

It struck May that she was hoping Ward wasn't involved because she really didn't want to be grateful to him.

* * *

They smelled the helipad before they saw it. It was a human stench, bad but not terrible – the smells of sweat and excretion, rather than decay and rot. It was hot, but then, it had only been one day. There was a steel shipping container, painted a faded blue, covered by an enormous camouflage tarp and sealed shut with a heavy padlock. There was a man hogtied and handcuffed, attached to the outside.

There was a handwritten note on the container, taped up with a cheap cell phone.

May unfolded the note. It was handwritten and very sloppy, not Ward's usual neat script.

_We are the Cursed Soldiers._

_There were 32 living souls in the blue container when we withdrew from the base. If they died, it was not by our hands._

_We have separated the surviving scientist with knowledge of the Faustus method. If he is amenable to interrogation, we ask that you share your findings in return for the liberation of this base. The attached phone will lead you to a convenient drop point._

_We are the Cursed Soldiers._

May passed the note to Mockingbird. She took out her satphone to contact Coulson and explained that they were now in possession of a number of enemy combatants as well as a moderate collection of corpses.

"You still don't know what went down there?" asked Coulson.

"I have a general idea, but there was no power during the siege so there's no video."

"Offer the crated soldiers a chance to surrender to you if they have information about the assault. Then move the whole damn crate three hundred miles in any direction and we'll tip off General Talbot."

"So we're bringing in the scientist?"

"Just because someone else suggested it doesn't mean it's not a good idea."

May sighed and pocketed the phone. She signaled to Morse and they approached the blue crate. May banged on the door. "You are being transferred to the custody of the United States military. If you are prepared to cooperate with SHIELD, put your hands behind your head, open your mouth and stick out your tongue." It was the best set of commands she could think of, and even so, there were probably one or two activating cyanide capsules in response.

May gestured a countdown from three as Mockingbird dismantled the lock. They pulled back the heavy steel door and looked into the blue shipping container. There were about twenty-five corpses, hands and feet bound in zip ties. A few were pale – they must have been injured during the incursion and died from blood loss. Most of the dead had the characteristic cherry red, mottled look that accompanied cyanide poisoning. One was still convulsing. May ignored him. They didn't have the medical resources here to save him. It was interesting, thought May, that more died from suicide than from the actual Cursed Soldiers attack. Toward the back of the container, there were a handful still alive. None had their hands on their heads due to the zip ties. Only one had her mouth open and her tongue pressed out.

Mockingbird approached the surrendering woman. She was black and bald and looked more confused than calculating.

"I cooperate! I cooperate to SHIELD!" the woman cried, careful to leave her mouth open at the end of the phrase.

Mockingbird wasn't ready to remove the zip ties yet, and helping the woman walk over the corpses seemed unlikely, so she simply picked the woman up and carried her across both arms. Not something she wanted to do for long distances, but she could manage for forty feet. She put the woman down on the helipad as gently as she could.

The other living captives were stoically silent. May sealed the container and reattached the lock.

Morse knelt down next to the woman, who seemed far too distraught to be a Hydra soldier.

"I am not! I am not them. They take me because I speak Kwese. English only very little."

"Okay," said Bobbi. She was trained to question witnesses through a language barrier. "Tell me your name."

"Narolie."

"Good. Now, tell me what happened." Commands were less polite than requests, but they were more easily understood.

"I do not see much. I hear crash. I hear fight."

"How many attackers?"

"Two."

"Two in charge?"

"Just two. All I see is two."

"And what do they look like?"

"Man is white, tall."

Mockingbird pulled up a series of six men's faces on her tablet. "Do you see him here?"

"That is him." She tapped Ward's face.

"Okay. And the other?"

"Woman is…like her." The witness pointed to May.

"Asian?" asked Bobbi.

"No. Yes. Face is…very same."

"The woman looked _exactly_ like May?" echoed Bobbi, to make sure she was understanding.

"Like her," said Narolie, "but broken here." She indicated her cheek.

So Ward and Agent 33. Well that was interesting. "What did they do, the man and the woman?"

"They fight. They break things. They tie people up and put them in the box." Narolie indicated the shipping container. "They check the teeth, take the bad ones. The bad teeth are…I don't know the word, make you dead."

"Poison?"

"Yes. They take the poison teeth. But then one of the men here, the ones in the box, he say something about a man called Daniel. And then the woman, she change. She start to…I don't know the word. When your heart is," Narolie tapped her chest rapidly with her palm to signify a rapid pulse, "and you look every place."

"Panic."

Narolie nodded. "The woman panic. The woman try to run, but the man stop her. They fight. He say many things, hard to hear. But he say something about rewards and the woman get calm."

"Something about rewards? Would you recognize it if you heard it again?"

Narolie nodded, but looked uncertain. "Maybe?"

"Was it, 'Stick with me and you'll get your reward'?" Bobbi knew better than to start with the answer she was looking for; that would make the interview too leading.

Narolie shook her head.

"Was it, 'Victory is always rewarding'?"

"No, not that."

"Was it, 'Compliance will be rewarded'?"

"Yes, yes, that was it."

"And then what happened?"

"They don't go back to teeth. They just put the rest in the box and they shut the doors. I don't know what happened after that."

"Thank you, Narolie."


	2. Chapter 2

When people described someone as 'intelligent', they usually meant someone who knew a lot of facts, someone who could think complex and creative thoughts, someone who could solve problems, someone with a quick and agile mind.

Phil Coulson wasn't SciTech-smart and he never claimed to be, but he was an intelligent man in his own right. He could analyze scenarios and play them out in his mind with astonishing accuracy. He was not, however, particularly quick. He wasn't a slow thinker by any standard, but he couldn't race down six separate mental avenues simultaneously the way Simmons could, the way Fitz used to be able to do. Instead, ideas formed and percolated in his mind, poking around the edges half-complete and making themselves known in their own time.

He pulled out his hard copy of Grant Ward's SHIELD file to check the date of birth (January 7, 1983) and the date of Academy enrollment (August 25, 2003). Twenty years old. Not a teenager. Of course Raina could have just misspoken. (Raina never misspoke.) Or Ward lied to her. (Why?) Or Raina lied to him. (What possible purpose would that serve?) Coulson skimmed the rest of the background information. He'd read it over more than once before recruiting Ward to the team, and he'd forced himself to revisit it after Ward's true allegiance became known, looking through the details to decide if this was something he should have seen coming.

Ward had grown up in an abusive household, but got out earlier than most by attending a residential high school, a military boarding school. Things were rocky there at first, but he'd apparently settled in and responded well to regimentation and discipline. He graduated in 2001 with a solid B average and awards for sports and foreign languages. After graduation he'd moved to Atlanta where he rented a room in a flophouse and paid the bills as a dishwasher, occasional bouncer, and taker of bets in some kind of unregistered wrestling league. Okay, that sounded a little disreputable, but no worse than anything Coulson himself had done at that age. Ward had looked into military service sometime in late 2002, which put him on SHIELD's radar. He was recruited and enrolled in 2003.

So it was possible, just barely, that someone from SHIELD might have contacted Ward when he was nineteen, though Coulson couldn't at all imagine Garrett in that role. That seemed like the sort of task he would delegate. (Unless he was recruiting a private army of Hydra supporters, in which case it was exactly the sort of thing he'd do.) But talking to a nineteen-year-old was hardly child warfare. Maybe Ward had exaggerated and Raina had misinterpreted. Maybe.

Coulson put the file away.

May and Morse had returned from the Treehouse.

* * *

"So," said Coulson, "Ward and Agent 33 tore up a Hydra base, left us a note, and fled the scene." He sounded tired. He felt tired. "I want opposition reports. Morse, you convince me this is a good thing. May, you tell me why it's bad." Coulson had instituted the practice of opposition reports when he took the directorship. It was a way to make sure he considered both sides of an issue, didn't get too stuck in one way of thinking.

Mockingbird put her hands behind her back, the way she always did when giving a report. "Ward took steps to minimize casualties. Most of the dead are suicides. There was enough tech there that he could have easily destroyed the base once he had control of it, but he chose to give it back to us instead, with quite a lot of resources intact. I think he's trying to help Agent 33. I think the term 'Cursed Soldier' refers to both of them, to the way the feel they were used and mistreated by their commanders. When 33's programming began to reactivate, he did what he could to calm her down and then retreated. He wants information on brainwashing so he can deprogram her. He's asking us to do the interrogation only because the science is beyond him."

May took her turn. "Ward has taken control of Agent 33. He's activated her programming and switched the focus from Whitehall to himself. He's building a private army and while it might seem nice that he's taking out Hydra targets, there's nothing to stop him from turning on SHIELD. A lot of people died at that base. There was an innocent woman, forced into Hydra service, and he took no steps to protect her as a noncombatant. I think the term 'Cursed Soldier' shows that takes no responsibility for his actions. He sees it as a curse that someone put on him, not a series of choices that he made. Any or all of this could be a trap. Giving us the scientist? Asking us to conduct an interrogation? Just because we can't see his endgame, doesn't mean that he doesn't have a plan."

"The Cursed Soldiers are from Poland," said Coulson. "They were resistance fighters against the Soviets. Ward was stationed in Poland for over a year." He looked up at his agents. "Wikipedia," he added, before dismissing them both.

* * *

Coulson turned the cell phone that his agents had recovered from the Tree House over in his hands. When activated, it provided directions to three different drop sites, all reasonably open and anonymous. There was also a single number available under 'redial'.

What the hell. Coulson hit redial.

Two rings, then a click as the call connected. "Who is this?" Ward's voice. There was another sound in the background, a woman's voice with a strange echo. Coulson couldn't make out any words.

"How many people have you been giving phones to?" asked Coulson. "I'm starting to feel like I'm not very special."

"What do you want?" asked Ward.

"I'd like to speak to Agent 33."

"No," said Ward. The voice in the background grunted more loudly. "Anything else?"

"Why not?"

"She's sleeping. But if you'd like to give me more details on your location, I'd be happy to have her call you back."

"I'd also like to talk to you," said Coulson.

Ward said nothing.

Coulson rested his hand on the yearbooks he had obtained from Ward's military school. The ones that were suspiciously missing any pictures of Ward. "Where were you living in 2000?" He picked one of the oddly undocumented years at random.

Ward hung up the phone.

Coulson counted to ten, took a deep breath, and hit 'redial' again. "Ward," he said, when he heard the call connect.

"You sold me to my brother, Coulson. And you knew, you knew what that meant. I may understand why you did it, but I will never forgive you."

"I understand why you did it, but I will never forgive you," echoed Coulson. He was starting to feel the same way about Ward.

"I don't want your forgiveness, Coulson. None of that matters now."

"Your family's home burned down when you were fifteen. It wasn't an electrical fire, was it?"

"Great, you decided now was the time to investigate-"

"How old were you when you met John Garrett?"

"Why? Why ask me now, huh? Why does it even matter? I killed in his name. You said I will never be a part of your team."

"How old?"

"Sixteen." There was a catch in Ward's voice, as though the admission had cost him.

"You didn't go back to school."

"Wyoming. He owned land there." And in the background, a cough and a whimper. A woman's voice with a strange echo.

"A cabin?"

"No cabin. Just land."

"For how long? He was working. He couldn't have been there very much. How long did he-?"

Ward hung up the phone.

Coulson sighed. This didn't change everything. It didn't even change much. But sixteen, that was something. Wyoming for years, without a cabin, that was something. And 33 in the background, desperate and unable to speak, that was something else entirely.

Days passed. Weeks passed.

* * *

"Hello?" Coulson was receiving far too many phone calls on his encrypted line. He would have to talk with Skye about fixing that.

"Coulson." It was Ward's voice. It sounded thick and heavy.

"Ward," answered Coulson.

"You understand," said Ward, "that she was brainwashed. That she had no control over her actions. That she can't be punished for her actions."

"You're talking about Agent 33?" asked Coulson. "We have no intention of sanctioning her."

"You understand that," repeated Ward. "She was brainwashed." There was a creaky sound, and Coulson realized that Ward was stifling a yawn. In the background, there was a rapid beeping and the sound of sneakers on tile.

"Where are you?" Coulson didn't really expect an answer.

"Hospital." Ward didn't say which one. Given time and effort, Coulson could certainly find out. "Sometimes she's fine. She's an agent. She's strong and sharp. Sometimes she's not. I have to restrain her to keep her from running out in search of Whitehall. I have to take her gun. I have to watch her every minute. I can't watch her every minute. I sleep." Ward said the last sentence like it was an admission of guilt.

Exhaustion, desperation maybe. "What happened?"

"She drank drain cleaner. She's alive, but…" Ward paused and Coulson thought he heard another stifled yawn. "They put her in a coma. Because of the pain and something to do with potassium. I don't know. They put in a pacemaker, a temporary one."

"You brought her to the hospital?"

"Yes. False name, but I couldn't hide her face."

"Thank you," said Coulson, "for saving her."

Ward kept talking as if he hadn't heard Coulson. "I can't do it. I thought I could. I made it out, I thought I could help her do the same thing." There was an audible exhale. "If I give her to you, what will you do to her?"

Coulson hadn't expected the offer, but he could certainly think on his feet. "We'll provide for her medical needs to the best of our ability. We'll only restrict her movements as much as is necessary to protect her safety. We'll do our best to restore her freedom of thought. And we could give you updates, let you speak with her, so you'd know she was being treated well."

"We're at Methodist Hospital in San Antonio." Ward hung up the phone.

* * *

Apparently there were _two_ Methodist hospitals in San Antonio. Agent 33 was not at Methodist, but at Methodist Memorial.

"He's toying with us," said May. She had come along to play the role of 33's twin sister.

"It's possible," Coulson acknowledged. He didn't expect Ward to still be at the hospital, of course, but he didn't expect this to be a trap either: despite its obvious convenience, a hospital was a terrible place for a fight.

They stopped at the information desk. They already knew where Agent 33 was, of course, but it was always best to keep up appearances. They were directed to the sixth floor and found the relevant elevator. It had been a very long time since either of them had been in a regular hospital. SHIELD agents relied on SHIELD med techs, not the civilian medical system.

And then they were there, the intensive care floor.

Agent 33 had a private room, under the name Rosemary May. (So Ward must have planned for this eventuality when he checked her in.) She looked fragile and flimsy, like she no longer fit together quite right. There was a tube down her throat and a wire in her chest. An IV was taped to her arm and another plastic tube ran under the bedsheets, obviously a catheter. It wasn't that long ago that this woman had been a powerful asset in her own right. Whitehall had taken that from her.

Coulson suddenly felt very aware of the responsibility he was taking on by assuming custody of Agent 33.

"I'm going to speak with the nurses," said May. "I'll have to fill out paperwork to transfer her."

Coulson nodded. With Skye's help they had created a false paper trail, so 'Rosemary May' appeared to have previous admissions to her (fake) hometown hospital in Oklahoma. They would arrange for transport, then have her passed off to SHIELD agents posing as paramedics. It was overly complicated, but it avoided any possible mystery or conflict with the hospital. They had to stay below the radar as much as possible.

Coulson walked to the other side of 33's room. It was small, but it wasn't uncomfortable. They had crappy, repetitive paintings on the walls and colored floor tiles. There was a television (off) mounted to the far wall and an oversized calendar announcing the day's meals. There was a small nightstand next to the bed, and on it, there was a paperback book, propped open to hold its reader's place. But 33 was in an induced coma; she wouldn't be reading anything. He looked at the cover: _Six Frigates: The Epic History of the Founding of the U.S. Navy._

"Ward," he said aloud.

"Took you that long?" asked Ward, stepping out from the attached bathroom.

"Why were you hiding?"

"Some members of your team are quite clear about wanting to kill me."

There wasn't much Coulson could say to that.

Ward held out a plastic grocery bag full of little bottles and baggies. "Here," he said. "It's everything she's taken since we've worked together. Obviously none of it was that effective, but feel free to test it for impurities."

Coulson looked in the bag. Some of the medications were familiar: sedatives, painkillers, antidepressants. He pulled out one of the baggies and looked at Ward with an eyebrow raised. "Cannabis?"

"She had no appetite. It helped with that, but it made her paranoid, so we didn't repeat the experiment."

Coulson dug through the bag and pulled out another Ziploc. "Is this cocaine?"

"Ketamine. I read in the news that research says it helps severely depressed people. She's not depressed, just suicidal, but…" Ward shrugged. "Obviously it didn't work." He handed over a spiral bound notebook. "That's all my observations, all my records." He seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then said, "Good luck with her."

"Are you working with anyone else?"

"I wouldn't tell you if I was."

"You could come too," said Coulson, "come in out of the cold."

"Back to my old cell?" asked Ward with no trace of irony.

"Yes, at least initially. But if new information about your recruitment is corroborated, I'm willing to at least reconsider your sentence."

There was a very faint smile on Ward's face. He shook his head, saying nothing.

"You spent quite a while alone," said Coulson. "I think it was good for you to have a partner."

"Thanks for the advice." Ward sounded dismissive.

Coulson extended his hand to shake Ward's. "Thank you for what you've done for her."

"Goodbye, Coulson."

* * *

**Epilogue**

Ward glared at the man. "Are you going to try to take me in to SHIELD? Because that's not going to go well for you."

"I'm not SHIELD, mate," said Hunter, hands up in a half-assed surrender pose. "I'm an independent contractor."

"A contractor."

"That's right. I worked for SHIELD for a while, but they kept putting me on missions with my ex-wife. My ex-wife! Can you believe it? That's bloody inhumane." Hunter shook his head at the incomprehensibility of it all. "Coulson said you could use another pair of hands. Mine don't come cheap, mind you."

"I'll pay you fifty dollars a day."

"Fifty dollars?! I could make more waiting tables!" Hunter protested.

"No, you couldn't," said Ward. "You're obnoxious."

"Look, I don't care who you are or what you've done, if you're taking down Hydra bases. I've got a grudge against Hydra. They killed some good friends of mine."

"So you've got a personal stake?"

"That's right."

"Then I'm offering you forty dollars a day."


End file.
